Lake News by Barbara Delinsky

wondered if his promise to be at her apartment within the hour had to do primarily with the publicity attached to the case. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Given that she could only afford to pay him for a consultation, she was grateful when he agreed to come.
    In person, he wasn’t nearly as impressive as the televisioncameras made him out to be. He was older. He was also shorter and broader, and without makeup, more mottled.
    But he was pleasant and patient. Sitting on the sofa, he listened while she vented. He frowned in dismay, widened his eyes in disbelief, shook his head from time to time—and she didn’t care if he was pouring it on for her benefit. The sympathy felt good.
    â€œHow can this happen?” she asked after working herself into a fury. “How can so many lies be printed? How can my whole life be put on display? How can sealed files be un sealed? I’ve lost two jobs, the press sits outside waiting to pounce, Justin Barr is tearing me to shreds, my family is being hassled. When I think of going out, I think of being stared at by people I don’t know who know personal things about me . I feel totally helpless. How do I make it stop?”
    The lawyer sat straighter. “For starters, we can go to court, file papers, and initiate a suit. Tell me. Who’s the worst?”
    â€œThe Post,” she said without pause. Terry Sullivan had started it all. He had used her and lied.
    â€œThe Post it is,” Funder said. “Our suit will be the vehicle to get your side of the story out. We’ll expose all the falsehoods. We’ll get affidavits from the Cardinal and the governor corroborating your side of the issue. I’ll call a press conference and lay it all out”—his passion rose—“calling this the worst kind of shoddy journalism, the most reckless example of bad press. I’ll demand an investigation of the Post for first printing this slander and demand an immediate retraction.”
    Lily latched on to the last. “A retraction. That’s what I want. Will I get it?”
    â€œNow?” The rhetoric cooled. “No. They’re too far into this. They’ll fight to defend the basic integrity of the paper. Maybe years down the road…”
    Years? “How many years?”
    He thought for a minute. “Realistically? From now to the time a jury hears the case? Three years. The thing is”—he raised a cautioning hand—“in order for you to be really vindicated, you need a big verdict. Token damages won’t do. So we’ll sue for, say, four million, but I have to warn you, the Post will fight hard. They’ll fight dirty, and you’d better know right now what that means. They have on retainer some of the toughest First Amendment lawyers in the country. They’ll put your life under a microscope, and they’ll do it under oath. They’ll take depositions of your family, your friends, schoolmates, teachers, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, neighbors—and that’s nothing compared to what their private investigators will do. They’ll sift through your life with a fine-tooth comb. They’ll get phone records, credit card records, school records, motor vehicle records, medical records. They’ll interview people you didn’t know you knew, looking for anything, even the tiniest little hint of something, that can help their client show that you’re a disreputable person. That you have a history of being a disreputable person. If you think your privacy has been violated now, it’s nothing compared to what they’ll do.”
    â€œGee, thanks,” Lily said. It was either sarcasm or tears.
    â€œDon’t think I’m kidding,” he warned, harder now. “Iknow these people. They’re animals. If there’s anything out there, they’ll find it. They’ll try to prove that your reputation is so bad that even if they made a mistake and libeled